


To Swell a Progress

by seepingout



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:33:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seepingout/pseuds/seepingout





	To Swell a Progress

Memory is a funny thing.

\---

She's 17 and thinking about college. She doesn't know where she wants to go or really what she wants to do. She's got a couple ideas but they don't seem to really fit. She just got an offer from one of the best schools in the country, with a scholarship to boot (not a full ride but close enough that she isn't worried her parent's will bankrupt themselves trying to help or that she'll spend the next 20 years paying off student loans), and offers from a few other places besides (scholarship offers from them too) and she doesn't know which to choose. She doesn't want to go to the other side of the country, but she knows that if she doesn't, a part of her will always regret it.

She's been to California before and something about it appeals to her, but she's 17 and doesn't think she's ready to make a decision that will have a profound effect on the rest of her life.

\---

She's 23 and sitting next to legends. Her first full national team call up and she is exhausted. She'd played last night for Stanford, flew out to be at this game, and knows she has to rush out early in the morning to make another game for Stanford. She probably won't play, it's practically guaranteed, and she doesn't mind. She knows she's not up to it, she may be young but she has back to back games, a quiz to study for, a project to finish, and, and, and. Less than a week ago she celebrated her birthday and let the girls convince her to down a few more than she normally would and she still hasn't fully recovered (well, her place hasn't anyways). It's enough to be here, to be sitting next to Joy and Mia and the rest, sitting next to these women who stand as proof that being a professional female athlete is a possibility. It may never be her reality but she's here now and she's going to enjoy it.

Then Angela comes off and it's a whirlwind of the other womens' clothes and debates with refs and she's on the pitch. Not between the posts, on the field.

It's the longest few minutes of her life but she barely registers any of it until it's done. 

\---

She's 26 and at her first Olympics. She's not completely convinced she's here. She's gone long stretches without being called into camps, been the low woman on the totem pole for most that she's been called into, and even though she's looking at signs written in Chinese, she's still not sure she isn't about to wake up. 

She knows she won't step foot on a pitch unless Hope gets injured or runs her mouth again, and she doesn't want to get a chance at someone else's expense, she knows that's the way it is and it makes her sad, but she's here and there's a nation full of women who would love to be in her place. 

Idly she wonders about the food. She was introduced to Chinese food (the real thing not the mid-western American abominations those in the know at Stanford called what she'd eaten before) early in her college career and wonders if the stuff they may get to try here will be different. She almost laughs at the idea that she's thinking about food instead of thinking about gold but there's a certain freedom in being second choice.

\---

She's 30 and hugging Woof. The league has folded. Everyone saw it coming, and she's definitely one of the lucky ones. She's still a regular part of the National team and it provides a stability and safety that so many of the women she's played with don't have. They're working part time, scrabbling for spots in foreign teams, playing for pennies. She knows she's lucky too, that she has her part-time coaching at Stanford to fall back on as well as the random commission and project work she gets as an artist. The position at Stanford may be a volunteer one, but it keeps her connected and it keeps her moving forward to better coaching certifications and classifications. If she wants to coach for a living, she'll have the right things to offer when it comes time to retire from playing.

Her sister is visiting, platitudes and clichés falling from her lips, and she doesn't listen to any of them. They're not important. Her sister is here and that is. She's not as devastated as those other players who don't have anything to fall back on that lets them play but her sister still felt that she'd need the emotional support and came to see her.

Her family is her rock, her sister most of all, and it makes the growing collection of moose in her cabin a bit more bearable. They're a sign that her sister is making a space for herself in her space. It's a comforting thought, better than the one that's been swirling in her mind that she is 30 and the second go at women's professional soccer wasn't just a bust, but a mess. She doesn't want to retire but goalkeeping is hard and the kids coming out of college know the pressure is really on now that they don't have a club team as a consolation prize.

Her knee aches a bit in the chill and she wonders just how long she can really keep doing this

\---

She's 32 and just won an important game. It's not a championship or the number one team in the league, but people had started to talk because they've been losing and this win and the one previous will hopefully put a stop to that. 

Her hip aches. Everyone who bothers to talk about her is talking about her knee, but the twinge in her hip is inescapable and they're probably related. After games now she's starting to feel every one of her almost 33 years and a few more besides and she wonders how Hope does it. She wonders how Angerer does it. Hope has been under the knife for repair more than she has but somehow doesn't seem to be wearing down as fast. She's honest enough to admit she's jealous of Angerer, three years older and somehow appearing more spry. 

She's still fast on the pitch, doing things other goalies aren't, but she hasn't been called up for the last few rosters, she's not looking at her name on the list for the upcoming ones. She worries. Everything has its time and she wonders if hers with the National team is coming to an end. 

\---

She's 38 and she's just been in an accident. Nothing too serious but her body had reacted like it was. The adrenaline hasn't faded but her life has stopped flashing before her eyes.

A career measured in years not decades, a footnote to legends without a story of its own, but in those brief seconds before the accident and before her brain could register that it wasn't going to be bad, it's all she thought of.

It makes the decision for her. She'd been hesitant to take the position, planning for a future involving art and marketing and kids. She'd thrown out the idea of coaching when she'd retired and even Stanford hadn't said anything to her. She's still been there, volunteering while trying to build a career that didn't involve keeping a ball out of a net.

Three years late but the offer had come, although she wonders if they'd asked Hope first. It would mean getting back on the road again, although less than when she'd played, and she rather thinks she's missed that too. It's probably why she still splits her year between two beds and calls both home. 

\---

She's 38 and stepping onto the pitch with the US crest on her chest again. But this time she's standing next to a head coach and looking out at 17 year olds and not standing with them.


End file.
